


Alone

by havetardiswilltimetravel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feels, Gen, Kidlock, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetardiswilltimetravel/pseuds/havetardiswilltimetravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthdays were supposed to be celebrated…happy occasions…there was supposed to be cake and presents and the warm glow of candles and people singing…at least that’s what he always heard other people talk of at school…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

Inspired by the drawing [“Shadow, my shadow. You won’t leave me alone like Mum and Mycroft do…”](http://havetardiswilltimetravel.tumblr.com/post/20608607156/doublenegativemeansyes-sherlock-7-year-old) by [doublenegativemeansyes](doublenegativemeansyes.tumblr.com)

* * *

Sherlock fled from his house and out onto the Holmes estate, not knowing quite where he was running to…but that hardly mattered now, did it?

Tears stung his eyes and clouded his vision, causing him to stumble on the tan concrete path. Catching himself, the young boy ran on, away from the cold indifference, away from the persistent silence that permeated the enormous house. He hated it. He hated it all.

Birthdays were supposed to be celebrated…happy occasions…there was supposed to be cake and presents and the warm glow of candles and people singing…at least that’s what he always heard other people talk of at school…he’d never actually experienced any of it…and he didn’t understand why…He knew he was a disappointment. His social inadequacies only called attention to themselves at the dinner parties he was forced to go to, and he somehow always messed things up. No matter how well he did in school, though he was top in his class, it was never enough. He was the outcast, the pariah, and nothing he did ever measured up to Mycroft…Sherlock’s mind spat out the word.

No…he knew Mycroft was the favourite…but was he really not good enough to merit one special day a year? The 7-year old swiped at his eyes and veered off the track, suddenly heading for the woods that bordered their estate.

His family hadn’t done anything this year…On previous birthdays, there had at least been presents on the table…bought by the nanny, of course, but he could still always pretend they held meaning…this year, Mycroft was out with friends (superfluous, unneeded, unnecessary), and Mummy…Mummy was just using his birthday as an excuse to drink (celebration, just like every other night that month, expensive wine and a crystal glass, alcoholism with class).

He looked back over his shoulder as he ran, watching the large house grow smaller by the second. The orange glow from the setting sun made the deep red brick come alive, but he knew the warmth it exuded now was only an illusion – it would still be frigid inside.

Sherlock soon stopped at the edge of the forest and turned…his house was just a speck from here. The young boy leaned against a thick tree and slid down until his knees folded up against his chest. The rough bark had caught on his jacket and dragged it upwards, but Sherlock ignored it, barely even noticing. He kept his eyes on the ground, watching as his shadow stretched in front of him.

“You know, I don’t care…” he told it bitingly. “Not really.” His voice quieted, and he ran his pale hand along the shaded ground. “Birthdays are dull…”

The hand came up to run through his dark hair in a sad frustration. “I don’t need presents or cake or friends…”

Sherlock laid his hand down once more on the edge of his shadow, watching as the inky shade split his hand in half, knowing it wasn’t true, knowing he wanted them all. “My shadow…” he murmured as his other arm came up to wipe the tears away from his face. “You won’t leave me alone like Mummy and Mycroft…”

He knew it was childish to say; after all, a shadow was just an immaterial form, shade, nothing more…it wasn’t a person. It wasn’t a friend. Sherlock knew that quite well…But he didn’t care. He wanted a friend. He needed a friend, despite his constant outward insistence to the contrary. He was always so lonely, and no one cared…

His dark companion didn’t utter a word.

And after a few silent minutes, the sun set on the horizon. It’s fire faded to black, and another tear trickled down Sherlock’s cheek as he was left in the dark…without even his shadow to keep him company…


End file.
